


Promises

by DimiGex



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-19 05:44:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8192407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DimiGex/pseuds/DimiGex
Summary: Reflection on the horrors of war and finding solace when and where you can. Mustang/Hawkeye oneshot. Could be friendship or romance depending on how you want to take it.





	

Quiet finally descended on the camp, silencing the screams and gunfire with darkness. Despite the complete exhaustion of his body, Roy Mustang lay awake staring at the ceiling of his tent. He hadn't slept for longer than a couple of hours in a stretch for the past several days. Though he knew that it was bad for his body, he couldn't convince his mind to rest. Even when he managed to find sleep, he'd startle awake soon after with memories of death and suffering flashing before his eyes.

Sitting up, he looked around the empty tent and pushed his fingers through his dark hair. Being a State Alchemist had been enough to earn him his own tent. The ground was no softer beneath a private tent, but at least no one asked him about the nightmares that woke him constantly. He picked up the silver watch from the ground beside him, running a thumb over the engraved Amestrian dragon on the face. Flicking it open, he saw it was nearly midnight. He'd been lying here for more than two hours, trying to find sleep.

In the morning, he would be expected to become a human weapon again. He'd lay waste to dozens or hundreds of lives with the snap of his fingers simply because those were his orders. Mustang closed the watch and tossed it back on the ground, peering around the tent like it might offer an answer. Today had been no different than tomorrow would be. The Ishvalan Civil War had reached a tipping point and the State Alchemists had been deployed to end the bloodshed as quickly as possible. What could normal soldiers, normal humans do to stand up against that?

He's killed so many since he'd been stationed here. The days ran together in a senseless slaughter that was supposed to curb the uprising. Night was the only time there was relief of his duties. Regardless, their faces followed him here in the dark. It wasn't just soldiers that he'd killed. There had been women and children among them as well. Those faces haunted his nightmares. This wasn't the idealism he remembered as a boy who wanted to make the world a better place.

"Part of growing up," he mumbled and lay back down, forcing his eyes shut. Even if it wouldn't be long, he needed to get some semblance of sleep. Mustang didn't know how long he'd been asleep when he woke this time. His heart was pounding but he couldn't remember the dreams. That hadn't been the thing to wake him; he'd heard a noise in his tent. Trying to remain as still as possible, his hand reached toward his gun. State Alchemists rarely needed traditional weapons but out here, on the front lines, it was foolish not to carry one.

"You don't need your gun, Major." Mustang pushed himself up on his elbows and turned toward the voice. Her silhouette was barely visible against the white canvas wall of his tent. His eyes adjusted slowly and for a moment he wondered if he was still asleep. She was sitting near the end of his blankets, knees drawn up to her chest and arms wrapped around them. It made her look younger than she was.

Mustang sat up the rest of the way, scrubbing a hand across his eyes. She wore her uniform pants and a simple white shirt, much like what he was sleeping in. You never knew when you'd be called for service, so it paid to be able to get ready quickly. Mustang cleared his throat, drawing her attention to his face. Her presence didn't make him uncomfortable, necessarily, but it was surprising. Their shared past had come tumbling back with aching freshness the other day when they'd seen each other for the first time in years. She had undoubtedly heard of his deadly prowess on the battlefield even if she hadn't seen it with her own eyes. Was she second guessing sharing her father's research with him?

"Riza?" At her name, the woman finally looked up and met his dark eyes with her lighter brown ones. She rocked back and forth almost imperceptibly, seeming on the verge of speaking then stopping herself. "What's wrong?" His eyes had now fully adjusted and he could see the splash of red along the inside of her forearm. Moving to his knees, Mustang approached her like a frightened animal, moving slow and careful. "Are you hurt?"

He touched her hand and she flinched away. Kneeling next to her in the dimness of the tent, Mustang waited. When he'd seen her days ago, it hadn't surprised him that she'd followed the military path. She had proven herself exemplary in the academy and been sent to the front lines as a sniper. He didn't want to imagine the horrors she had seen since coming here; no soldier escaped unscathed from war. He couldn't deny that he felt a great deal of responsibility for her, for being the influence that led her here.

Reaching out a second time, he took her hand and pulled her arm out straight. The blood wasn't hers, the skin beneath it was unmarred. He lifted the corner of his blanket to wipe the blood away but it had dried to her skin. It was then that she spoke.

"How many have you killed?" Her voice didn't shake; it sounded as strong as it ever had, stronger and colder.

Part of him wanted to tell her that it was the middle of the night and it didn't matter. The other part recognized the same pain that kept him awake. Sitting back on the pile of blankets that served as a bed, he sighed. "Enough to make a difference." It might be true for all he knew. The war would eventually have to end, though it was beginning to feel like a genocide. She shivered despite the warmth of the air. Mustang had a bit of a reputation with the ladies, already but the truth was he was as inept as any other guy. He had no idea what to do in a situation like this. What did she want from him?

Riza wasn't like other women, anyway. She could kill with her sidearm before Mustang could even draw his. Where most women looked for a protector, Riza had become one. She wasn't made of weakness and fear, but strength. He recognized it now, even in the emptiness of her expression. Whatever she was feeling at the moment, it would pass.

"I tried to sleep but I couldn't," her voice was quiet and Mustang could only nod.

"Your body needs the rest. A mistake out there, even if it's from exhaustion…" He trailed off, realizing that particular train of thought probably wasn't helpful. It was true though. Being exhausted led to mistakes and mistakes led to death. He almost asked how he could help but Mustang had no answers to the pain they shared. She surprised him by reaching out and touching his hand in much the same way he had done earlier. Mustang didn't pull away as her fingers traveled up to rest against his bicep. He recognized the silent cry for affection.

He responded, lifting his right hand to brush the blond hair from her face. A faint wateriness to her eyes spoke of forming tears as he hooked her long bangs behind her ear. Mustang's fingers traced down the back of her neck as he drew her against his chest. She trembled but didn't resist when his arms closed around her. The warmth of her body against his drew out his exhaustion and he pulled her closer, lying back. Riza stiffened briefly then relaxed against him after a couple of minutes. She was alarmingly quiet and he wondered if she was crying though she remained entirely still in his arms.

Several minutes passed before he spoke. "Your gun is jabbing in the ribs, you know." He was teasing but Riza practically leaped out of his arms.

Her cheeks were pink and dry, no trace of tears as she looked at him. "I'm sorry, major."

"Roy," he chuckled softly. "You can call me Roy when it's just us."

She nodded and Mustang wondered if he'd made a mistake teasing her about the gun. It really had been digging into his side but he'd been trying to diffuse the situation, not make her move away. Her warmth had been a comfort.

"I'm sorry, sir, Roy." She stumbled over his name as if she hadn't said it dozens of times before. The unshed tears in her eyes were gone as she dropped a hand to the weapon on her hip. Mustang sat perfectly still, sensing her flight or fight instinct kicking in as she pulled the gun from the holster and laid it beside his.

Meeting her gaze, he invited her back into his arm. Riza hesitated only a moment before nestling against his side. As he closed his arms around her back protectively, Mustang whispered against her hair. "I can't stop the nightmares but I promise you won't have to face them alone."

"Neither will you," she answered in same soft voice.


End file.
